


Succubus

by beyondcanon



Category: Glee, Lost Girl
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-02-06 17:21:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1866087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beyondcanon/pseuds/beyondcanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rachel is a succubus, Brittany is a vampire, Quinn is a queen and Santana is a human with a death wish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Succubus

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of [my prompt challenge on Tumblr](http://beyondcanon.tumblr.com/tagged/ma%27s-prompt-challenge). Some stories will be posted on AO3; this is one of them. Enjoy! :)
> 
> Important! Basically everyone bangs everyone. Lots of girl on girl action. Multishipping/polyamory running free. It’s also based on the Lost Girl verse, but you don’t need to know it to understand.

See, this is why she does not hang out with humans.

They’re fragile, needy, and they possess absolutely no endurance whatsoever.

 _It’ll be okay,_  Kurt told her.  _Santana and I have history,_  he said.  _She’s different_ , he said.

She kicks the front wheel of her car and curses.

—

She knows Santana would be delicious the first time she sees her.

Brown skin, thick black hair falling on her back, smell of Earth and leather and that disrespectful, dangerous smirk: she could eat Santana with a spoon.

She promised Kurt she wouldn’t, though. No feeding! Just taking her across the state to Kurt’s wedding. A nice little road trip.

Except her car breaks down in the middle of nowhere, and she’s hungry.

She stares at Santana’s ass juggling in the air as she drapes over the hood of the car.

—

She has killed before, of course.

Her appetite is excessively large; it’s too risky to feed from fragile things.

Humans never know what they’re doing, do they? They keep asking for more, more, more, until Rachel drains them of their vital energy and they either pass out or pass away.

Santana should know better than to just touch Rachel like _that_ , grabbing the inner part of her elbow – like that could possibly calm Rachel down, in the middle of their argument over car parts and cell phone signal.

Foolish human.

You don’t handle a powerful being like that.

Rachel pushes her away, eager to get rid of the sharp electric feeling of Santana’s fingers.

—

“I need to go hunting,” she tells Santana as she grabs her coat. “Be back soon.”

Santana places a hand on Rachel’s arm and pulls her back before she’s even had a chance to open the door and step out. “So you’ll leave me in the middle of an empty road? Just before it gets dark and, I don’t know, fucking dangerous?”

Rachel leans closer. “Do you know what’s dangerous?” She licks her own lips, savoring how Santana’s gaze drops to stare. “Spending the night with a hungry succubus.”

“I trust you,” Santana says, mouth slightly parted.

She wants to get Santana naked and willing, to drink her as much as she can. “You really shouldn’t.”

—

They – or, actually, Santana’s short, tight dress – manage to get a ride to the nearest motel.

They can figure out what to do from there. If they leave in the morning, they can still make to Kurt’s ceremony easily.

She hopes for a mechanic.

—

“One bedroom,” Santana tells the receptionist. “Double bed.”

Rachel is distracted, staring at the way Santana’s back arches when she leans on the counter, and doesn’t realize until it’s almost too late.

“Separate beds,” she growls, shooting Santana a hard look.

“Sorry, ma’am, but our only available room has a double bed.”

Wonderful. Just wonderful. “Fine.”

Santana looks very satisfied, a small smirk on her lips as she gives her credit card and makes the reservation.

—

She takes a very long shower, trying to ease the humming on the surface of her skin, the sexual thirst.

It’s all for nothing. Propped up on the small table by the window, Santana is wearing shorts too short for that time of the year, staring right at Rachel when she leaves the bathroom.

She lets her eyes roam free. This is like the beginning of the bad porno of her dreams.

All Santana needs is to _offer her services_ or something of the sorts.

“I wasn’t kidding when I said I needed to feed. I’ll be back by morning.” Rachel turns around and stares at herself in the mirror, checking her outfit. She heads for the door. “You don’t want to be near me tonight.”

Santana grabs her wrist and makes her turn around. “See,” she begins, tugging Rachel closer to stand between her legs, “Maybe I do.”

“I promised Kurt—“ she tries, her voice hoarse.

“Just a snack.” Santana whispers, her sinful legs wrapping around Rachel’s waist. “For the road.”

—

She shouldn’t do this. “I can kill you.”

“You won’t.” Santana’s lips latch on to her pulse point, however, and the tip of her tongue draws the most wonderful patterns; she succumbs to it, unexpected strong arms pulling Santana up against her.

She takes a sip, just a sip, and Santana tastes like a river, like the back of an alley at night, like a cool breeze, and so she tastes it again, a larger gulp this time.

“Fuck,” Santana moans, joining their foreheads and rolling her hips against Rachel’s abdomen. She’s hot already, and Rachel’s not far behind.

—

Her mouth maps Santana’s entire body slow, tongue and teeth, trying to find moderation.

Santana’s already trembling, grabbing Rachel’s hair forcefully, her third orgasm building just from this because this is what a succubus does, every sensation heightened until it’s almost painful to bear.

“I knew,” Santana pants, legs parting when Rachel hovers over her cunt, “you’d be amazing.”

“I knew you’d be delicious,” Rachel hums, taking the first lick and moaning when every flavor combines and she’s simultaneously tasting Santana’s cum and drinking her sexual energy.

Santana screams her name, ripping at the sheets.

Rachel just smiles, hand over Santana’s abdomen to hold her in place.

—

Santana is the most enthusiastic when it comes to oral sex.

Rachel moans, holding the headboard as Santana eagerly licks her towards her third orgasm.

She doesn’t even know what she’s saying anymore, a continuous chant of  _please, Santana, don’t stop, please, just like that, oh God fuck me, please, you’re so good, fuck_ , over and over again, her hips dying to ride Santana’s face properly.

She’s moaning, making little slurping sounds and her tongue does some wonderful fucking right before swirling around her clit, fingers sinking on Rachel’s thigh painfully.

She nearly blacks out when she finally comes.

—

Turns out they  _both_  black out, and Rachel is sated enough to sleep through the night.

She’s the big spoon, of course, a possessive arm over Santana’s waist.


	2. Blood Queen

Traveling in official capacity is tiresome business.

Quinn checks her appearance in a mirror and applies another layer of deep red lipstick. She analyzes the perfect curve of her eyebrows; the swift black line of her eyeliner; the soft pink blush on her cheekbones, high and regal; the perfect color on her polished nails.

Satisfied, she nods. The driver opens the door.

“Quinn Fabray!” Kurt’s high pitched voice rises above the welcoming crew. “What a pleasure to have you.” He steps forward and kisses her hand like a gentleman; she bows.

He looks very dapper in a bright pink bowtie and a black and white shirt, round sunglasses on his nose.

“Your Excellency,” she greets, prim and proper. “I wouldn’t miss the occasion of the millennia.” She takes the arm he offers, resting her hand on his forearm.

He gestures with his free hand; his houseboys take the luggage from the trucks in a synchronized motion and walk inside.

She makes a discreet nod and her delegation steps forward, each bowing to them before entering the house. She smiles, polite.

“Let me show you around.” They walk together. “Blaine has done wonders with this place.”

—

The house is a work of art.

Built in black and white marble, long vertical lines and soothing ample spaces, it’s the precise balance between the Dark and Light clans.

“It’s perfect,” she says, a pleased look as she stares at her spacious, elegant quarters.

Kurt bows, proud grin on his lips as gestures for her to enter the room. “I’ll let you freshen up before our meeting.” He takes his glasses off, sharp brown eyes piercing into Quinn’s. “I look forward to this week, Your Highness.”

Quinn smiles like a cat. “It should be interesting.”

—

Quinn notices the clicking of the heels before she sees their owner.

“Your Highness.” She hears Rachel’s voice behind her and turns.

Rachel is a vision, like usual. She’s all in black, from the knee-length leather boots to the wrap front blouse offering a deep cleavage.

“Rachel,” she says, not bothering to hide her pleased smile, “aren’t we friends?”

“You  _are_  the Diplomat, Quinn.” Rachel kneels anyway, taking the hand that Quinn offers and placing a slow kiss. “The Blood Queen.” She kisses Quinn’s knuckles. “You deserve the honors.”

“You deserve them as well.” She says, sighing when Rachel clings to her hand and runs her palm from Quinn’s wrist to her elbow.

She can feel the warmth already, sexual energy stirring right beneath her skin, looking for Rachel’s.

“You fought in battle right by my side, before you aligned with the Dark and I was the Diplomat.” She cups Rachel’s cheek while she stands.

“I did.” Rachel nods, taking a step forward.

“We’re past the titles.” She lets her hand slide down, over Rachel’s neck, to her collarbone; the heartbeat under her palm is strong and commanding.

Rachel’s dark eyes draw her in. Quinn’s mouth waters, arousal running through her body like fire. “I’ve missed you.”

There’s nothing quite like a succubus. Her cheeks flush.

“Me too,” Rachel answers, her face in the crook of Quinn’s neck. “I haven’t seen you since the peace talks began.”

“I’ve been busy.” She tries, fingers in Rachel’s hair, tilting her head to offer her neck. “I had to leave to negotiate with the old world.”

Rachel smells sweet like coconut, kissing Quinn’s shoulder. “How much time until the Ash calls you?”

Quinn grabs a handful of Rachel’s blouse and pulls her closer. “Thirty minutes, maybe forty.”

Rachel nips at Quinn’s collarbone. “I can do half an hour.”

—

“Spread your legs.”

Rachel licks her lips and does as told; Quinn pushes her against the wall.

“Do you want me to fuck you, Rachel?” She presses their bodies together, hands palming Rachel’s exposed skin.

Rachel whines, a new surge of energy between them. “Please.”

She’s throbbing already, fully clothed, and Rachel is so warm, so gorgeous. “Do you to come on my fingers until you can’t take it anymore?”

Rachel nods, mouth parted open in want.

Quinn runs a finger through wet folds – so ready, dripping,  _just_  for her, for her to do whatever she wants.

She takes a sharp breath, bites Rachel’s lower lip. “Fuck if I haven’t waited enough for this,” she says, voice low and sensual, as she dives three fingers inside.

Rachel’s moans her name, clawing Quinn’s shoulders, hips meeting Quinn’s hand as she thrusts.

Their sexual energy intertwine and combine and Quinn wants to make Rachel  _scream_  when she comes, wants to feel her clenching around her fingers, at her mercy; she kisses Rachel hard and demanding.

A Queen always takes what she wants.

—

A servant knocks on her door.

“The Ash calls for you, Your Highness.”

She’s already the face of perfection: capri blue minidress, black stockings and black heels, hair in an intricate bun exposing her neck.

“Very well,” she nods, allowing the boy to lead the way. Kurt does not like to wait.

Silent, he takes her to the upper floor. On the other end of the corridor, the Morrigan approaches.

Black leather jacket, loose shirt and combat boots, the woman is both an impressive and terrifying sight.

Quinn bows curtly. “Danielle.”

The Morrigan gives an amused smile before mirroring the action. “Quinn. I’m glad to see you back from the old world.”

Danielle’s cold gaze brings a cold chill on her spine, creeping upwards until the small hairs on the back of her neck are standing.

She gives a formal smile. “And I am glad to be back.”

Kurt shows up by the door, looking like a prince in his white, traditional clothes. “Let’s make history.”

—

Puck kneels to them, palm on the floor.

He’s strong, animalistic; broad shoulders, shaved head, white button up shirt clinging to his muscles, tattoos on every available surface of his body but his face.

Three men of his pack stand by the door, keeping guard.

She gestures for him to stand; he obeys and takes the floor plans.

“Our joined forces are enough to cover the building, the seniors and your own safety. My pack will man the bar and the buffet, so we’ll have eyes everywhere.”

He presents them the floor plans, outlining the security detail for their approval.

She turns on her high chair to looks at the Morrigan by her left and the Ash by her right, confirming their approval, before nodding to Puck. “Go on.”

He tries to cover it, but she notices the muscles on his face relaxing, the line of his shoulders becoming a little less straight.

He’s neutral and acutely aware of the danger, like Quinn. They share a small smile of understanding before he clears his throat and points to the floor plan.

“I drafted two strategies for the most crucial moments: the wedding and the peace treaty, both to be held in the gardens. Each security team is already acquainted to it.”

He’s a good man, bearing the bulk of her security work to assure the strength of her position.

“Thank you, Puck,” she says, satisfied, and dismisses him.

—

The sun is already setting when she leaves the conference room, body tense and stiff.

She needs to relax.

She needs Rachel.

Her entire body is humming, asking for a round two.

She goes straight to Rachel’s room.

“God,” she hears a strangled voice right before she enters.

There’s another woman, sitting on the table, legs spread open to Rachel, eyes closed in pleasure. Rachel is standing between her legs, hand in her shorts, face hidden in the crook of the woman’s neck.

She leans on the doorframe. “Oh well.”

Rachel stops and turns to her, eyes wide. “Quinn, I—“

She closes the door. “So  _this_  is what you’re doing on your free time.”

The human looks scared, as she should be. Her hair is a thick mane, falling on her shoulders, on her collarbone; her shirt is open, almost dropping off her shoulders, her strong abdomen in display.

Quinn bites her lip. Rachel has always had good taste, at least.

Rachel tries to speak again; Quinn just raises her finger to her own lips to make her stop.

“I’d expect more than a human, though, even if it’s a half caste.” She stands behind the woman, the tips of her fingers running over her tan shoulder. “Even if she’s gorgeous.”

Rachel stares, mouth parted open; Quinn can read the desire so very easily.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it Santana?” She asks the human, mouth grazing her ear. “A succubus that powerful.” She sees the goosebumps and smiles. “Your nagual blood must be so attracted to her.”

The human takes a sharp breath. “You know who I am?”

“I know everything about everyone who steps in this building.” She answers, pressing her body against Santana’s back. “Santana, half nagual, associated with the werewolf pack, aligned with the Light but standing neutral.” Santana leans back, supporting her weight on Quinn.

Rachel arches her brow at the information, but remains silent. “And  _I’m_  the overachiever,” Rachel chooses to say, both her hands on Santana’s thigh.

“You know very well, Rachel,” Quinn answers, staring right into her eyes, “that I like to be on top of everything.”

She smiles full of malice, one hand on the human’s waist as the other palms her collarbone. She makes sure there’s desire, pupils dilated and ragged breaths, head turning to her, before undoing the front clasp of the human’s bra.

She turns her head when Santana’s hand touches her jaw and brings her closer. It’s also the human who initiates the kiss, sucking on Quinn’s lower lip before taking a small bite.

Bold, bold human.

She turns to Rachel.

“Come,” she orders. “We can share.” Rachel leans forward and kisses her over Santana’s shoulder, bodies pressing together.

She kisses Santana, wet and languid, as Rachel drinks them both greedily.


	3. Interlude I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone asked me for strap on sex, and who am I to deny it?

“Put it in your mouth.”

Rachel nods, a little _too_ eager, and kneels on the ground.

Only the Blood Queen can bring her to her knees.

Quinn looks down at her, eyebrow raised. “Suck me.”

She licks her own lips before taking the tip of the dildo in her mouth, looking up at Quinn while she does so. She swirls her tongue once, then twice, hand around the base, making a proper show.

She takes Quinn’s sexual energy at once, intense and overwhelming, enjoying the loud moan that leaves Quinn’s lips, her hair being grabbed.

“Faster,” Quinn says. “No teasing.”

Rachel takes a long lick, from the base to the tip of the cock. “Yes, my queen.”

Santana shows up behind Quinn on the bed, pushes Quinn’s long hair aside and begins to kiss her shoulder.

Quinn throws her head back, humming in appreciation, biting her lip when Santana’s hands find her breasts and Rachel’s mouth sucks on the cock, pressing the base against Quinn’s clit.

She takes a few minutes, but Quinn looks very satisfied, running her index finger on Rachel’s sore lips. Rachel takes it in her mouth and sucks it, her nails sinking on Quinn’s thigh.

Quinn pupils grow wide with lust. “Good girl.”

God, she wants Quinn inside her.

“So, who wants to go first?” Quinn smiles, all sharp corners and bad intentions.

“I was thinking,” Santana says, voice raspy, placing a kiss under Quinn’s ear, “that you could fuck Rachel while I ride her face.”

Quinn seems pleased. “You’re not bad for a human.”

She kisses Santana, open mouthed and dirty, before turning to Rachel again.

“On the bed.”

\--

Her nails leave angry red marks on Santana’s hips, but she can’t help it.

Quinn’s pounding into her for dear life, hard long thrusts, strong rhythm in and out, stretching her so _good_.

She’s got both legs over Quinn’s shoulder and it’s – _oh_ _right there_ – so fucking deep.

Santana moans her name, vowels stretching in pleasure, as Rachel sucks on her clit a little too forcefully to keep herself from screaming.

“Fuck, Rachel, I’m so close—“ she gasps, “just don’t—fuck, _yes_ ,” her hips grind down on Rachel’s face, and fuck if Santana’s isn’t a delicious little thing.

Quinn rotates her hips and Rachel is almost, almost there, head spinning with their flavors combined, Santana’s cool water and winter afternoon and Quinn’s spice and scorching heat.

“Make the human come, Rachel,” Quinn commands after a particularly deep thrust, “and I’ll let you have your turn.”

She moans right into Santana, face drenched in wetness, before she goes for it and brings a powerful orgasm out of Santana, thighs clenching around her face and Santana’s hand grabbing her hair to keep her _right there_ for as long as she can take.

“Please,” she moans when the human falls to the side, spent. “I’m so close, please—“

“One condition.” Quinn leans forward a bit and touches her clit in hard circles, hips slamming into Rachel again and again and again. “Scream my name when you come.”

It doesn’t even take two whole minutes before her entire body is shaking and she’s screaming, back arching, mind going blank.


End file.
